


Promise Land

by obediantservant



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Family, Foster Care, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Past Abuse, TW: Mentions of abuse, foster dad lin, good dad lin, tw: mental health issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obediantservant/pseuds/obediantservant
Summary: Twelve foster families in three years... ...Why should the thirteenth be any different?





	1. alexander hamilton

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @OhNooOOOOoo for the introduction to, and inspiration for, #fosterdadlin.  
> Feedback is much appreciated!  
> Let me know if there's anything specific you want to see, and I'll try to incorporate it!

There was something inherently intimate about the situation.

It could have been that the porch light only stretched to the bottom step of the condo. The rest of the street, an expanse of Alex stood in the shadows, shrouded in darkness as he hesitated on the walkway. Despite the urban setting, the street in Washington Heights was completely deserted. It was quiet enough that, upon closing his eyes, Alex felt momentarily like he could tune out the world. He felt as though, by closing his eyes, he could remove himself from his current predicament: the thirteenth foster home in just under three years. _Lucky thirteen_ , he mused to himself.

He hadn’t meant to mess this one up. Truthfully, he never meant to mess up a housing placement, but this time around, he’d put in more effort than usual. Alex had done exactly what was asked of him— chores completed efficiently, no fights in school (a level of restraint unparalleled in his previous homes). It just hadn’t been enough. Even his impeccable school work, and the praise that followed from his former teachers, couldn’t stop aggressions from his last foster father, Mr. Stanley. When Mr. Stephens, his social worker, had come for the one-month check-in, Alex had been removed immediately. The bruises had been too prominent to conceal.

It hadn’t been that bad— he’d had far, far worse. In fact, Alex had just started to settle into the routine of life at home number twelve. He knew when to avoid his Mr. Stanley, how to navigate the small-town high school he attended. _It isn’t as though the next house won’t beat me_ , he thought. ‘ _Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t…’_

Taking a step forward, Alex shivered; the sole of his trainer had worn through, and the cool feeling of cement on the sole of his foot sent goosebumps up his spine. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched to stave off the cold. Dressed in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt, both well-worn and in desperate need of a wash, Alex was freezing in the air of the October evening. He knew he didn't look like the ideal foster care candidate. Of course, he's not sure what the ideal foster care candidate actually does look like... But with bruises trailing half the length of his jaw, a puffy, split lip, and dark shadows smudged under his eyes, he wasn’t exactly an inviting sight.

"Alexander, come up here. Now." Mr. Stephens frowned, finally noticing that Alex wasn’t beside him. He stood on the top step, looking particularly rumpled in his tweed suit after the extended car ride. They’d spent the afternoon travelling down to the city from the CPS headquarters upstate; Alex had been sleeping there since he’d been removed from the Stanley’s house six days prior.

As he mounted the steps, Alex felt the pit of dread in his stomach slowly begin to ache. He knew the drill: in one month’s time, two if he was lucky, he’d be on someone else’s steps in someone else’s neighborhood. His longest stay anywhere had lasted seven months, and that wasn’t even with a family; he was a frequent at the various CPS facilities across the state of New York.  

With one last, hard look at Alex, Mr. Stephens rang the doorbell. His eyes had said it all: _This is your shot, Alexander. Do not throw it away. Again._ Alex’s twitched impatiently. There was nothing he wanted more than to run; he could probably make it halfway down the block before Stephens even realized he was gone. But he had nowhere to go. And it was cold. Instead, he reached down to pick up the trash bag at his feet; it was half-full, and contained everything he owned. _Inhale: one, two, three…_

The door swung open, bathing Alex in sudden warmth. A young couple stands in the doorway, the husband balancing a baby on his hip. _The Mirandas_ , Alex reminds himself. They are grinning at him, but he keeps his head low, staring at the rolled cuff of his too-long jeans. _Don’t screw this up, Hamilton._ He inhales sharply. Hundreds of thoughts race simultaneously through his head; _they have a child, why am I here, I want my mother, I want to leave—_

"Come in, sweetheart, you must be freezing!" The woman ushers them in, and Alex is momentarily distracted enough to overlook the term of endearment. He hadn’t been called sweetheart since house five, and then it was only when his foster mother wanted a favor.

Inside the house is... Homey. _Perfect_ , Alex’s brain supplies; he’s quick to neutralize what must momentarily have been a look of longing on his face. It’s not extravagant, but clean and well-lived-in. The front hallway, which leads directly from the entryway to the kitchen, is warmly lit and smells wonderful. Framed pictures line the yellow walls, and a basket full of laundry sits in the corner.  As they enter, Mr. Stephens attempts to move Alex in front of him, but he lingers in the doorway.

“Mr. and Mrs. Miranda, this is Alexander,” Mr. Stephens said, his voice thick with a falsely official and authoritative air. Alex smirks, discreetly; this is the same man who, when retrieving him suddenly from a situation at foster house number nine in the middle of the night, had arrived in a floral nightgown. Alex hadn’t taken him seriously since.

Stephens shakes hands with the man, who introduces himself as _Lin_ while shifting to support the baby’s weight in one arm. It’s small, squishy, delicate-looking. Alex doesn’t remember being told there’d be another foster kid in the house. Lin extends his hand again, but Alex eyes it warily; if the man notices him flinch away, he does not comment on it.

“Mrs. Miranda is my mother-in-law, call me Vanessa. We’re so happy to have you,” Vanessa smiles warmly, and reaches over to take the baby. It gurgles. “Don’t mind Sebastian,” she laughed. The baby looked healthy, well-fed, properly clothed; in better state than any other infant he’d seen in a home. This held no true indication of the treatment he would receive here; babies tended to be taken care of, because abuse was harder to hide. Alex was no stranger to multi-child homes.

Mr. Stephens cleared his throat. “I have some last-minute paperwork for you, Mr. Miranda.” He pulled a manila folder from the briefcase on his shoulder, and a pen from his breast pocket. Lin took the proffered papers, holding them up haphazardly against the wall for a flat surface as he signed with a flourish of his wrist. Alex briefly took in his appearance while he was occupied: well-dressed, with a blue plaid button-up rolled at the wrists under a soft-looking white sweater. He had what appeared to be shoulder-length hair, which was pulled back into a tight bun. Alex self-consciously ran a hand (shaking, almost imperceptibly) through his own long locks, which hung limply due to his own lack of a rubber band. Mr. Stanley had purposefully snapped his last one the week before.

As Stephens attempted to cram the folder back into his bag with one hand, he clasped the other firmly on Alex’s shoulder. The teen inhaled sharply, but was unable to pull himself from the strong grasp. _Pleasedon’ttouchmepleasedon’ttouchme_.  “Alexander, be good,” Stephens commanded sternly. Alex’s breath hitched in his throat, and he nodded weakly. All of Stephens goodbye-speeches began and ended in the same fashion. “Mr. and Mrs. Miranda, if you have any trouble at all,” he glared at Alex, “please don’t hesitate to contact me. He can be a handful.”

Alex winced, cheeks burning with shame. Looking down at the wooden-paneled floors, he didn’t notice the looks exchanged between the two foster parents. In fact, he didn’t look up again until the final goodbyes were exchanged, finishing the brief meeting with the door closing behind Stephens as he exited. Alex ran his front teeth over the jagged skin on his swollen lip, thoughts racing. He was alone with the family. _Deep breaths, Hamilton,_ he swallowed hard, _don’t freak them out. You can do this. One, two, three—_

“Alex,” he supplied, meeting Lin’s eyes for the first time. His voice wavered in the otherwise silent home. “Not Alexander; Alex.”


	2. (the story of) tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex doesn't unpack his belongings, but he does unload some feelings (and some pizza).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay:  
> MICROSOFT WORD DELETED MY FUCKING 3,000 WORD DRAFT OF THIS CHAPTER.  
> I almost died. It just forced quit unexpectedly, and I hadn't saved because I'm the worst.  
> I'm so sorry, this is a little lower writing quality than I'd have liked.  
> Re-writing from memory sucks. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy tho!!! <3

_“Alex,” he supplied, meeting Lin’s eyes for the first time. His voice wavered in the otherwise silent home. “Not Alexander; Alex.”_

* * *

There was a pause. Then, Lin broke out into a wide grin. “Okay, Not Alexander,” he drawled humorously. Alex, stomach twisting in knots with the stress of the situation, coughed out a quiet laugh. _Was he mocking him?_ Alex’s ‘people skills’ were… rusty, to say the least.

“Lin, be nice,” Vanessa chidded, rolling her eyes dramatically for Alex’s benefit. “We’re ordering out for dinner tonight, if that’s alright with you? You can choose what to order, we aren’t picky— except for him,” she poked Lin in the soft part of his stomach, “who doesn’t eat Indian.”

He scoffed, reaching to take the small child from her hands as they both turned towards the kitchen. “Do you see how mean she is to me?” He whispered dramatically; the baby gurgled. It was kinda cute, with a mop of unruly hair and wide eyes. Alex had always been wary of other children in the house, especially babies; it was hard to have an every-kid-for-themselves mentality when competing with a blob of fat and drool.

Alex mulled over the thought of dinner, chewing his lip thoughtfully. As the couple beckoned him to join them in the kitchen, he wrapped a hand protectively around the black plastic of his back. _They want me to decide. Is this a trick?_ Maybe they were testing him…

“Is pizza okay?” He asked quietly, eyes trailing the floor as he made his way into the next room. He cringed internally at how small his voice sounded; it was pathetic.

Lin grinned. “Pizza is _always_ okay!”

 _Score one for the bastard orphan_ , Alex thought wryly. _Only a million other ways to fuck things up… And that’s just in the next twenty minutes._

Alex’s main concern shifted from choosing dinner, to consuming it. He watched as Lin bounced the baby around the kitchen on his hip, while Vanessa dialed for the delivery. There had been an… issue, at his last home, regarding food. Unconsciously, Alex ran his free hand along the delicate protrusions of his ribcage. When he’d stayed at the CPS office, he couldn’t keep down more than crackers and water. He’d force himself to eat, though; _nobody wants an unhealthy kid._

His gaze shifted to the boy in Lin’s arms. “How long have you had him?” Alex asked. Babies were always the first ones to be placed in homes; they were prioritized much higher than gangly caribbean teenagers.

Lin looked momentarily confused. “Seb—Sebastian— is seven months.” Alex glanced sideways, suddenly noticing a framed photograph of an infant propped on the kitchen counter. _Oh_.

“Sorry, I thought…” His brow furrowed as he trailed off in embarrassment, eyes sweeping the room. “You have a really nice home.” The kitchen seemed well-lived-in, complete with with modern appliances. Pans hung from the wall, and there was a small succulent growing on the windowsill over the sink.

Vanessa paused, leaning against the counter. “Delivery, please? Washington Heights.” She placed her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “Thank you, sweetie.”

Alex’s heart ached uncomfortably.

“Want the grand tour?” Lin teased, apparently sensing the boy’s discomfort. Sebastian reached up to pat his father’s face lightly, who returned with a raspberry. Vanessa ended the call, announcing the 30-minute ETA. The pair strolled through an opening across the kitchen, with Alex close behind.

Past the kitchen was what Alex assumed to be the den. There was a couch, pushed up against a wall of windows; their view was difficult to discern, given the darkness of the evening. Lin was rambling, and Alex caught intermittent phrases as he carefully observed the room. “—TV isn’t hard to work,” he said. “— _super_ comfortable, but not to sleep on.”

“Here’s my office,” Vanessa added, pointing to a door on the other side of the den. “It’s a mess.” Alex wondered briefly what kind of work she did, and what kind of work Lin did, but decided to save his questions for later.

Beyond the den, is another small hallway, with a narrow staircase. Judging by the view of the street from the window at the base of the stairs, this room was parallel to the entryway. The lights of a passing car cast shadows across Alex’s face as he followed Lin and Vanessa up the steps. His hand darted out to glide across the smooth, wooden bannister.

“And _here’s_ the bathroom,” Lin presented the first door at the top of the stairs with a flourish. Vanessa flicked the light switch, illuminating the corridor. There were five doorways. “We’ll get you set up with toiletries and stuff after dinner, alright?”

Alex nodded, eyes unable to meet the older man’s as he offered a timid smile. “Thank you, sir.” Normally, he would have fought against the generosity, procured supplies of his own, but he had none.

For his part, Lin suddenly jumped to attention in the middle of the hall, hand snapping up to salute. “Sir!” He repeated, grinning incredulously. “Lin, dude,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to the nose of the now laughing baby in Vanessa’s arms. Alex’s heart constricted.

In quick succession, the Mirandas pointed out their bedroom, Sebastian’s nursery, a spare room with a piano (“— _my_ office,” Lin offered proudly, though it was in a shocking state of disarray), and a linen closet.

Vanessa paused outside of the final door. “It’s not quite finished, I apologize, Alex.” She glanced at Lin. “Maybe you two could go find some decorations tomorrow? And—” She eyed the trash bag, still clutched in his hand, “—maybe some other essentials?”

Lin grinned. “Sounds like a plan!” He pushed open the door. “This is your room, bud.”

Eyes wide, Alex tentatively observed the space. It was fairly spare, containing a bed, desk, and set of drawers. There were two windows overlooking the street behind the head of the bed. The walls were, coincidentally, his favorite shade of green; the same color as the worn Army-Navy-surplus jacket in his trash bag, and the palm fronds outside his childhood home.

It wasn’t much, but it was absolutely perfect. Alex had never had his own room before.

He spun around grinning. “This is _amazing_ ,” he stuttered excitedly, “it’s perfect. Thank you, so much.” He offered him what he hoped came off as his most appreciative look.

The couple beamed.

—

Later that evening, Alex found himself perched on the couch across from Lin, watching as Vanessa scrolled through options on the television from the loveseat. Sebastian had been put to bed after dinner. A quiet calm had settled over the apartment, and Alex was revelling in the turbulent emotions he was experiencing. He was wearing a pair of pajamas leant to him by Lin: an old t-shirt and pair of basketball shorts, that drowned him in fabric.

Pizza had been interesting. Alex quickly came to the realization that Lin was the type of man who enjoyed constant conversation, while Vanessa was more reserved. He also discovered his nutritional limits: after barely clearing a single slice of pizza, his stomach felt uncomfortably hard. Nausea was creeping up the back of his throat, forcing him to swallow back bile every few minutes.

Yet, he was determined to enjoy the movie.  

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Harry Potter,” Lin said incredulously. He’d been teasing Alex nonstop since he made the discovery at dinner. “It’s a classic! You’re gonna love it.”

Vanessa smiled encouragingly at him, finally scrolling down to the title film. “It _is_ good,”  she conceded as the opening credits flashed across the screen. Alex rubbed his palm against the angular knobs of his knees, peeking out from the hem of Lin’s shorts, tucked underneath him. _You need to hold the pizza down_.

He lasted all of twenty minutes. With the movie playing faintly out the door, Alex was curled on the tile floor of the bathroom; the lights were off, and he was shrouded in darkness. His hands were wrapped around his midsection, desperately attempting to quell the pain and nausea bubbling from inside. He’d tried to be as quiet as possible with the first round of vomiting— the last thing Alex wanted to do was disturb Lin or Vanessa while they watched the movie. He especially didn’t want to wake the baby.

So instead, he hunched over, cursing his body for rejecting the greasy sustenance he’d consumed. _Get a grip, Hamilton_ , he mentally scolded himself, as a trickle of sweat ran from temple to chin. _You’ve gotta eat. What will the Miranda’s think?_

Alex grimaced. They’d been so kind to him.

There was a knock on the door. Alex cursed under his breath. “Alex, buddy? Is everything okay in there?” Lin sounded concerned. As Alex opened his mouth to respond, his stomach twisted once more, and he hunched painfully over the toilet bowl.

Lin opened the door slowly, torn between respecting the boy’s privacy and desperately wanting to help. “Oh, _mijo_ ,” he whispered, immediately kneeling down behind him on the floor. The bathroom was by no means spacious, but he was not concerned about the way his elbow dug into the cabinets below the sink. All he could focus on, was the boy currently vomiting in the corner.

With one hand, Lin gathered Alex’s long, loose strands of hair dangling in his face. With the other, he gently rubbed his back. Lin’s heart clenched painfully, aching as he felt each bump of his new child’s protruding spine under the thin cotton of the t-shirt.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, attempting to soothe the tremors beneath his steady palm.

Alex coughed, dry-heaving a handful of times before he pulled back; he shook as he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, closing his eyes to avoid eye contact.

Lin briefly weighed the option of hugging the child, but decided not to push his luck; he'd already definitely overstepped physical boundaries with the kid. "You have nothing to be sorry for, bud. Are you sick?" He took stock of the striking green bruises on his ashen complexion, and the dark smudges beneath his eyes. "Was it something you ate?" 

"...M'not used to it," Alex muttered indignantly. "The whole, food thing." 

There was a brief silence as Lin's heart and stomach flip-flopped.  _Oh, boy._ Lin silently cursed out the string of foster families that preceded him. _Who could hurt a boy this gentle_? With sad eyes, he rose slowly to his feet; though he offered Alex a hand, the teen rose shakily on his own. 

"It's okay. We'll work on it, okay? Together." It was Alex's heart's turn to clench.  _Together_. "Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?" He shook his head. 

Lin gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Why don't you wash up? I'll be outside." He rummaged briefly in a drawer beneath the sink, procuring a neon green toothbrush. "You can put it in the cup, when you're done." 

Alex nodded, smiling almost imperceptibly as the man exited the room. The cup was already occupied— two regular-sized, equally colorful brushes, and a small one printed with cartoons. He was joining the family collection. 

The teen made quick work in the bathroom. Heavy exhaustion settled into his limbs as he splashed cold water on his face, and brushed his teeth. Alex avoided his reflection in the mirror, because he couldn't imagine it looked promising. 

Lin was sitting on the edge of his bed when he entered the bedroom, but the man quickly stood. He was holding a pink bottle of medicine. "Something to settle your stomach," he explained, motioning for Alex to assume his position on the bed. The boy sat, hesitantly downing the vile liquid. "Tomorrow, we can explore some easier options for you to eat, okay? I'm going to call the pediatrician in the morning for some recommendations." 

This display of care perplexed Alex, whose features briefly contorted into a confused frown. After a beat, he met Lin's eyes steadily. "Thank you," he whispered, blushing. "You don't have to, but... I appreciate it." 

Lin flashed him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, despite the concern gnawing inside of him. "Of course, Alex. That's what we're here for." 

He turned to exit the room, and Alex carded a shaky hand through his somewhat greasy locks. He eyed Lin's retreating form; more specifically, the man's well-maintained hairstyle. 

"Um, Lin?" The man stopped in his tracks, and Alex's breath hitched slightly in his throat. "Would you possibly have an extra hair elastic?" 

Lin reentered the room immediately, pulling a black tie from around his wrist. Taking one hard look at the half-asleep boy, he motioned with his hand. "Bun, or ponytail?" He offered, to the boy'd surprise. 

Alex's eyes widened slightly, though his lids were heavy. His foster father's kindness was perplexing at best, and it took him a moment to decipher the offer. "Bun, if that's okay?" He turned his head slightly as Lin collected his hair, making quick work of tying it back against his head. The bun was loose, the touch gentle, and Alex felt himself drifting off as Lin finished up, patting the top of his head. 

"Goodnight, _mijo_ ," he whispered, closing the door as he existed. Lin sighed, pressing his back against the wooden frame. 

 _We're going to do right by you,_ _Alex. We're going to help._

The boy slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback?  
> Suggestions?  
> Things you are dying to see?  
> Are you a nice person? 
> 
> Leave your love below!!!


	3. to the newly not poor of us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY  
> things have been kinda rough  
> mental health is a struggle, but it's okay!! baby steps. 
> 
> the comments y'all left on the last two chapters absolutely WARMED MY HEART--made my day every time I got the lil email notification. 
> 
> pls enjoy this. it's pretty filler-fluff but oh well.  
> <3  
> TW: mentions of past abuse

He awoke to a mass on his chest, and a dark figure above him.

         With a start, Alex shot into a sitting position, succeeding in smashing his head against something very solid; there was a yelp, a high-pitched keen, and then a string of muffled curse words. The weight had shifted, in his repositioning, down into his lap. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the room, a rough tongue started licking the underside of his chin.

         “Tobi, _no_!”

         The mass, which Ale now determined to be some sort of fluffy creature, was abruptly lifted off of him. “Alex, buddy, go back to sleep. I’m sorry this mutt woke you up.” It quickly became apparent that the ‘dark figure’ was actually Lin, looking extremely haggard and rubbing his jaw. He held a squirming grey dog under his arm. 

         Alex squinted, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “What time s’it?” He mumbled. His voice was sleepily clouded with the thick Caribbean accent he normally policed.

         “Half past six. You can sleep in.”

         But Alex was already pulling back the covers, bare toes curling inwards atop the cold floor. Sleep had never been Alex’s ally, and there was no way he’d fall asleep once he was already awake. Honestly, he was already surprised he’d slept through the night, especially on his first night in a new home… _Come to think of it, how did I fall asleep in the first place?_ Alex combed his mind, recalling the movie, and the puking, and the kindness. His stomach twisted.

         “I’m up,” he mumbled, following a chuckling Lin out of his room.

         Vanessa was already in the kitchen, face obscured by a large mug of coffee. Sebastian was in a high chair at the table, pushing around a few stray cheerios.  “Good morning, Alex,” she greeted, offering him a weary smile. “I see that you’ve met Tobi?” Alex was momentarily confused, before he connected the name to the wagging mass Lin was still clutching.

         “Um…” Alex frowned. “Is this dog, uh, new?” He definitely didn’t remember it from last night. Hesitantly, he sat in a chair across the table from the baby.

         Tobi jumped from Lin’s arms, running to lick Alex’s bare foot. “We had him stay at a neighbor’s last night, in case you didn’t like dogs…” Lin explained sheepishly. “Surprise!”

         Rubbing his eye with one hand, Alex reached down with the other, scratching the dog behind the ears. “Dogs are alright,” he reassured. Tobi looked reminiscent of the strays that would wander his neighborhood back home. His mother never let them have one as a pet; ‘ _too expensive, mijo_ ’ she’d lament.

         “How did you sleep, Alex?” Vanessa asked, pausing afterwards to take a healthy swig of her coffee. The entire kitchen smelled of the ground beans, and Alex watched enviously as Lin poured himself a cup. Coffee was just about the only thing they served at CPS, and it was cheap, so it was usually available at every house. It had been a staple of his diet since he arrived in the states.

         Alex offered Vanessa the nicest smile he could muster. “Really well, ma’am, thank you.” He ran a hand over Tobi’s exposed stomach; the dog wheezed affectionately.

         A mug was suddenly placed in front of him. Looking up, Alex’s eyes widened; he grinned at Lin, who had settled in at the table with his own mug. “Help yourself to milk and sugar, it’s on the counter.” Shaking his head, Alex swigged a mouthful of _quality_ coffee. Anything other than the coffee itself was, in his opinion, unnecessary. (He’d also become accustomed to nothing but the bare essentials, but that was an extraneous detail.)

         Vanessa, Alex noted, was dressed very professionally; her skirt-suit sharply contrasted Lin’s mismatched pajamas (and Alex’s, by extension). As if noticing his confusion, she smiled at him. “I leave early for work,” she explained, picking a few pieces of browned toast out of the toaster. “I work at a law firm in midtown, and traffic is hell.” Law firm would explain the fancy clothing… And the nice house, to an extent. Alex thought briefly of his mother’s own occupations, the multiple minimum-wage jobs she juggled to afford their miniature apartment. Not to mention the more unsavory nights.

         “That’s cool,” he offered.

         “Jam? Butter?” Vanessa pointed first to Alex, and then to the plate in front of her, with a butter knife.

         His stomach knotted at the idea of food. He was so out-of-touch with that part of his body, he wasn’t sure if it was aching for want of, or in fear of, nourishment. Either way, Lin was shooting him a very pointed look. “Butter, please,” he requested softly. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

         The pointed look was replaced with a nod of affirmation.

         “So!” Lin started, popping up from his seat to grab his own buttered (and jammed) slices. He grabbed a piece for Alex, sliding it across the table; Alex regarded it with trepidation. “After we wake up a bit, and Vanessa has gone to work, I was thinking we could go pick up some stuff?”

         Alex eyed him warily, taking a calculated bite from the toast. _Even toast tastes better in their house_. “I have stuff,” he assured the couple, offering up a small smile. “It’s okay—” hastening to add in a “— thank you, though.” He thought over the contents of his trash bag: his jacket, two pairs of jeans (including the ones he arrived in), a few t-shirts, and all of his books. Truthfully, the majority of his personal belongings were well-worn paperbacks and filled notebooks.

         Vanessa fixed a stern look at him as she finally settled at the table. “Clothes, toiletries, room stuff,” she pointed at Lin, speaking through a mouthful of jam-covered toast. “Also…” She raised an eyebrow, looking from Alex to her husband, and then back to Alex.

         “Doctors,” Lin said slowly. His heart sank.

         Boy, was Alex in for a day.

        

\---

         The heater in the car ran almost silently, and without conversation, Alex was sure the white noise would kill him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like silence— on the contrary, he was perfectly content to sit without speaking. Yet Lin, who came across as overly-caffeinated at best, seemed to hate the lack of discussion. He kept shifting in the driver’s seat, as if constantly on the cusp of speaking, and then deciding against it. They’d stopped talking sometime after dropping Sebastian off at daycare, roughly fifteen miles earlier. It was excrutiating.

         Alex wanted to make an effort. They were, after all, en route to purchase things for him. _The least you could do is talk to him_.  

         “So, uh…” Alex blushed at his own attempt to break the silence. “Where do you work?”

         Lin briefly took his eyes from the road, to glance at Alex. He seemed surprised to hear the boy’s voice. “Well,” Lin started. Then he stopped. “It’s… complicated?” He offered. “Right now, I work at a theater…” He paused again.

         “That’s cool,” Alex offered. The pair lapsed back into silence. It felt like Lin wanted to elaborate, but he didn’t, so Alex left him to explain at a later point in time; he was spent from the handful of words he’d managed to come up with.

         They’d come to a stop, in the parking lot of a very, very large mall.

         After turning off the ignition, Lin turned to face Alex directly, rather than exiting the vehicle. Alex paused, midway through unbuckling his seatbelt. “I know things haven’t been… easy,” Lin began; Alex fought an eye-roll against whatever bullshit he assumed the man was about to drop. “But please, please believe me when I tell you that you deserve only good things, Alex. I can’t begin to imagine how strange this must be for you, and I’m sorry.”

Lin offered Alex what was now becoming a trademarked sympathetic-yet-genuine smile. “Mostly, I’m sorry for how shitty this mall is. Just, try to believe me here— you deserve the best. That’s why we’re here, okay?”

Chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully, Alex glanced between the looming building, and the man in the driver’s seat, before pushing open the door.

\---

         Two hours, a _lot_ of shopping bags, and a smartphone (which Lin had deemed “absolutely necessary,”) later, the pair was situated in the waiting room of a pediatrician’s office closer to home. They were surrounded by sniffling little kids and their aggravated parents, all of whom were staring at Alex like some sort of alien; he was the oldest patient in the establishment, by far.

Acid-like fear bubbled in his stomach as his name was finally called.

A dull-looking nurse led them into an examination room clearly geared towards young children. Zoo animals decorated the pastel walls. Dragging his feet imperceptibly, Alex followed a half-step behind Lin; his entire body was buzzing with fight-or-flight adrenaline. _Doctors are not friends; don’t trust them. They don’t care_. The mental mantra pulsed through his temples.

Just as he thought he’d reached peak discomfort, the nurse pointed to the exam table and requested that Alex remove his shirt. “No johnny dress,” she rasped somewhat authoritatively. His heart welled in his throat at the thought of undressing in front of Lin. Alex knew his body only to be the sort of thing meant to be covered up, for reasons beyond quantification. As the nurse left, he glanced pleadingly at Lin, who seemed impervious to his panic. With shaking hands, Alex maneuvered his way around the seams of the newly acquired flannel shirt he was wearing, unbuttoning the top with a painstakingly slow speed.

Then, swallowing the fragmented shards of his fractured pride, he stripped.

Hunched over on the vinyl-covered table, from Lin's perspective, Alex was entirely made angles. Sharp rivets where his ribs meet flesh across his chest, knobs of his spine leaving a long trail of bumps down to the waistband of his boxers. His shoulder blades, Lin noted, extended enough to give Alex the appearance of growing wings; poetic, almost, despite his new son's horrific profile.

What worries Lin most, however, is not the obvious signs of malnourishment. It’s the scars that crisscross almost the entirety of Alex’s torso. A myriad of white and pink lines marring his tanned skin, ranging from well-healed to ones that look much too recent for Lin’s comfort. He wants to embrace the boy, to hug him tight, and reassure him, and offer him all of the love Alex was clearly depraved of at his previous homes. He wants to give Alex the world. Yet he knows Alex’s aversion to touch, understand now precisely why he finches at every unanticipated movement. A hot flash of rage streaks Lin’s vision as he curses whoever dared touch his foster son.  

On the table, Alex’s eyes were focused on the scraped vinyl coating the floor. And the countertop full of medical supplies. And the pamphlets stationed on the back of the door. Essentially, everywhere but direct contact with Lin. He could  feel the man’s eyes on his body, and Alex knew what he saw. How many times had he been in a similar situation? Not necessarily on an examination table, because no one has been _quite_ that thoughtful, but... Too often, all it took was this state of undress, the history of his time in the foster care system quite literally painted across his skin, for the ideas to implant themselves. 

Alex’s fingers fluttered unconsciously to the bruises on his jaw. His tolerance for pain is respectable, and he’s been able to ignore the aches and twinges that plagued the marks. Smiling was a bit strenuous, but he was reserved about that sort of action, regardless; when he wanted to smile, the pain was worth it.

As he gently probed the imperfections running along his face, there was a knock on the door. Alex’s eyes shot frantically to Lin, who offered the most reassuring smile he could; it had quickly replaced the twisted grimace he wore when he thought Alex couldn’t see.

After a few moments of silence, the doctor entered. If she was at all taken aback by Alex’s figure, her expression was schooled neutrally. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she greeted pleasantly. “I’m Dr. Hudson.” She toted a clipboard, thick with paperwork. “You must be Alex?”

Dr. Hudson extended a hand, which Alex accepted after a moment; it was freezing. After shaking Lin’s hand, as well, they got down to business.

An indeterminate amount of time passed— which felt like hours, or possibly millennia to Alex, but realistically was closer to twenty or thirty minutes— before she’d finished probing and inspecting. Blood pressure cuffs, scales, stethoscopes, thermometers and tongue depressors were tidied on the counter as Dr. Hudson instructed Alex to redress.

“Mr. Miranda, I’m going to need you to step outside at this time.” Alex froze mid-way through re-buttoning his shirt. His fingers fumbled at the seam. As he rose to exit, Lin’s expression was neutrally schooled, but he briefly turned to smile at Alex.

The door closed behind him, and Alex’s heartrate skyrocketed.

“Alex, I want to address the wounds I found,” Dr. Hudson started. _No shit_. He examined his hands, which were still fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “They vary in degrees of healing, but—” she scanned the clipboard before her “— they are entirely consistent with long, aggravated situations of abuse, sweetheart.”

He swallowed hard against the acrid taste of pure anger welling in his mouth. _Does she think the Mirandas did it?_ Alex briefly contrasted the feeling of Lin’s hand on his head, gently holding back his hair, to the feeling of Mr. Stanley’s palm across his cheek. The taste of buttered toast, to the bitter ache of day-old hunger.

“I am a mandated reported of abuse,” Dr. Hudson continued, clearly oblivious to Alex’s relative detachment from the conversation. “You can tell me, in the utmost confidence, whether you are being treated properly at your new placement. Okay?”

 _You have no idea_ , Alex chastised nonverbally. _You have no idea what abuse looks like, do you?_ He hadn’t been to a non-CPS-mandated doctor’s appointment in his life. On Nevis, they’d been too expensive for his overworked, underpaid mother. At the other houses, they’d been unnecessary inconveniences; even trips to the ER were reserved for life-or-death scenarios. Not once had a family been concerned enough to even consider consulting this sort of doctor.

His lips parted, as he formulated a response. _She needs to know_. The last thing Alex wanted, was for any inaction on his part to negatively affect his new foster family. He looked up, finally meeting Dr. Hudson’s eyes with fiery defiance.

Alex Hamilton opened his mouth, and spoke with the voice of passion reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: school? friends? enemies? laurens & lafeyette & mulligan (oh my!) 
> 
> as always, kudos/bookmarks/comments are always welcome! keep 'em coming


	4. yes, he yields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ribs are wrapped, confusions are clarified, café con leche is consumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH!! I am SO sorry that his chapter is straight-up a month late.  
> To be honest, I've been struggling through a few mental-health related things— while I love writing, ESPECIALLY this piece, I found it very difficult to concentrate and produce actually half-decent material.  
> Nonetheless, I am more-or-less back on track.  
> Thus, I think Promise Land will be back to regular updates!  
> Be on the lookout for some one-shot supplements on the side, too. <3 
> 
> Thank you for all of the positive feedback, I can't express enough how much it has helped me.  
> I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
> 
> (ALSO: if anyone is interested in kinda-beta-ing this, let me know!)

Lin sat on the bench in the hallway, head hung low and smothered in his palms. Alex had been inside, alone with the doctor, for nearly as long as the checkup itself. Worry gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

There was no doubt of what he’d seen. Abuse was so clearly evident— in the scars on Alex’s body, and his skittish mannerisms. It explained, more or less, Alex’s general hesitance. It explained the half-full trash bag with which he arrived, and his discomfort of the purchased made at the mall. It certainly explained the boy’s surprise when he’d offered any sort of physical support.

Then, there was also the issue of Alex’s physique. The starved contours of the child’s shirtless image would haunt Lin for the foreseeable future. With the way he handled eating the previous evening (and the startling finale in on the floor of the bathroom), Lin wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed. Which was, more or less, why they were at the pediatrician’s office in the first place.

Down the hallway, a baby was screaming; a newborn, from the looks (and sounds) of it. Lin smiled fondly at its worn-down mother. He’d been in her position not too long ago— a terrified, brand-new, completely inexperienced father to a squealing, squirming, adorable human worm. Yet somehow, that seemed easier to the situation Lin was facing now. Tenfold.

The door beside him swung open. Dr. Hudson emerged, her face unreadable as she scanned a clipboard in her hands. “Mr. Miranda,” she started, sighing almost inaudibly. Lin rose to his feel, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. “We should talk…”

 

—

 

Alex swung his legs nervously, alone in the examination room. His hands were curled around the edge of the table upon which he sat, palms supporting the dead weight of his body as he pushed downwards. Alone with his thoughts, Alex’s mind was reeling.

 _I raised my voice at her,_ he silently cursed. _I was disrespectful. No one wants a disrespectful kid._

But he hadn’t meant to. With Dr. Hudson, Alex hadn’t broken eye contact once as attempted to clear the air. His voice had risen, sure, but it hadn’t wavered. He’d explained the last home, explained each recent bruise and cut, allowed her to document every single mark on his figure. _For comparison_ , she’d informed him, though he wasn’t sure what she was expecting to compare. At the end of it all, she’d cleaned some scabs on his arms and legs (old wounds, from a schoolyard scuffle before the Stanley’s had pulled him from school entirely).

Then, there’d been the issue of his ribs.

If Alex was being completely honest, he hadn’t even noticed anything different— he’d become so used to his body aching, that nothing really felt out of place. With the fresher bruises embedded in his skin, and the almost constant stomach pain he’d been experiencing since sometime around week three with the Stanley’s, he hadn’t even registered a physical problem elsewhere.

In retrospect, Alex isn’t even surprised. When Dr. Hudson began probing his painfully sore abdomen, cringing at each sharp inhale Alex let slip through clenched teeth, he’d raked his mind for instances that could have injured him in such a way. Of course, Mr. Stanley had pushed him around— Alex had the very, very visible marks to prove it. But there were hardly any moments he could conjure from memory, worthy of three cracked ribs.

Hudson had wrapped Alex’s ribs tightly, forcing him to correct his own posture as she wound the bandage around his torso. She’d determined that they were already semi-healed, dating the injury at around a month ago; it had been decided, as the only silver lining of the ordeal, that a CT scan of the damage wouldn’t be needed, since she was fairly certain of what she was dealing with. 

And now, Dr. Hudson was outside, most likely informing Lin of all the things wrong with him. The ribs, the bruising, every glaring evidence of abuse written across his skin. Closing his eyes, Alex could almost imagine the look of disgust Lin would be wearing, right about now: a calculated smile, concealing racing thoughts of calling CPS at the earliest chance.  _No chance he'll want me after this_. 

"I want to see him for a follow-up in 14 days." He looked up as the door swung open, Dr. Hudson addressing Lin loud enough to include Alex as well. The older man smiled, retrieving his jacket from the chair in the corner. 

"Thank you so much, Doctor," Lin said, shaking the woman's hand as Alex slid down from the tabletop. 

Boy, was he screwed. 

—

 

By the time the duo exited the clinic, it was half-past noon. Lin was eerily quiet. Alex rode beside him in the car once more, fiddling absentmindedly with the edge of the bandages under his shirt. The man had yet to debrief with him over the findings in the examination room, offering nothing but a brief pat on the back as they crossed the parking lot.

They drove through a few busy intersections, passing street corners still unfamiliar to Alex. This area of the city, north of Harlem, was unlike any area of the city he'd seen. It was beautiful.

Earlier, as he outlined the day, Lin had mentioned stopping by the school Alex would be attending come Monday, to fill out some of his registration forms. The plan-mantra of  _mall, doctor, school_ had chanted in the boy's head incessantly. Yet when the car finally stopped, they weren't anywhere near Hunter High; they were back in front of the Miranda's residence. 

 _No school means... No school._  Alex's heart dropped into his stomach, thudding sorely as he came to an uncomfortable realization.  _He_ is _sending me back— we're not registering at the school because I'm not attending it. I'm going back. Shit._  Shit. 

Lin turned the engine off, running a hand through his long, loose hair.  _Is he— is his hand shaking?_ "Bud, why don't you bring the bags upstairs, okay?" He fumbled in the console, grasping at the house keys before depositing them in Alex's lap. "I'm going to run to the bodega and grab some groceries— I'll be right back." 

The trek up the front steps was heavy and burdened, not simply due to the multitude of bags weighing down his hands. As he entered the house, Alex was greeted by the skittering of Tobi's paws on the hard wood.  "Hey, girl," he sighed, wearily greeting the dog; his tightly-bound ribs ached as he bent to pet her. Walking through the kitchen, Alex realized that, with Vanessa at work and Sebastian at daycare, he was alone in their house. In all his years of fostering, equating to nothing more than inhabiting the homes of other families, this had to be a first. 

His heart cramped sorely as he walked through the den, and through the hallway to the stairs. Alex's eyes darted around, in a desperate attempt to mentally capture every detail of the townhouse before he was forced to leave. It had been less than 24 hours, yet he'd been treated better here than with any other family, combined. At the very least, the memories of the place would provide solace through whatever hellhole was sure to follow. 

 _You don't get this lucky, twice._  

Rather than unpacking, per se, Alex re-folded the new clothing, stacking it atop the wardrobe without putting it away— no sense in getting comfortable. He took the "decorations" Lin had insisted upon (a few posters of shows and movies he'd never seen, but that Lin liked, and promised Alex would too), and lay them out atop the desk. The next kid could have them... If the Mirandas even decided to foster again, after ridding themselves of Alex. Beside the posters, Alex laid the phone face down, uselessly.

"Alex?" Lin's voice echoed through the open door, startling the boy from his thoughts.  _Time to face the music_. "Come downstairs, I picked up some stuff." 

In the kitchen, Lin was juggling a styrofoam tray and a paper bag of groceries. "I got coffee," he announced, simultaneously placing the tray on the table and the bag on the island. " _Café con leche_ , actually— I know you take it black," he chuckled at the face Alex must have been making, "but this is good, I promise. Sweet." 

Without emptying the other groceries, Lin began rummaging in the fridge. Alex hovered in the doorway as the man began procuring what appeared to be the fixings of a sandwich. One hand drifted unconsciously to his partially-bound abdomen. Knotted bundles of nerves had grown roots in his stomach; the idea of food was, per usual, nauseating. 

As if sensing the boy's discomfort, Lin abruptly looked up from spreading mayo. "Alex,  _mijo_ , sit. Drink your coffee." 

It felt as alarmingly sour as biting into a lemon; to be called  _son_ , in his native tongue, by a man about ten minutes and two slices of bread away from sending him back into the foster care system. Alex hesitantly lowered himself into a seat at the table, though he perched uneasily. The coffee was smooth and sweet on his tongue. Alex curled his fingers around the waxed paper cup, grounding himself through the warmth. 

After a few moments of silence in the kitchen, Lin dropped into the seat across from him. One hand grasped a weak-looking sandwich; the other, a plastic bottle, which he slid across the table to Alex. "It's a nutrition shake," Lin explained, "Dr. Hudson recommended it. Supposed to be easier to digest, and stuff like that."

Alex stared owlishly at him. The man had spent the morning accommodating him, with more generosity and care than he knew how to accept. And now, even as he prepared to say goodbye, he was as kind as ever. 

"My dad makes good _con leche,"_ Lin said through a mouthful of sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "You'll like him, he's a fun guy." Alex took a tentative sip of the shake, which had the consistency of liquid chalk but didn't taste terrible. 

Swallowing hard, Alex pondered the implications of 'biting-the-bullet', so-to-speak; it was difficult to listen to Lin talk about the future, as if he had one in the Miranda household. "Sir, listen—" 

"Lin, dude, seriously." 

"—Lin, please don't. Just let me know when Mr. Stephens is coming back, and I'll pack my things away. I accidentally ripped the trash bag looking for things this morning, though, I'm so sorry—" He stopped himself short at the genuinely confused look he was receiving from across the table.

The sandwich was dropped onto the plate. "Alex," Lin began, voice soft. "Buddy,  _mijo_ , do you _want_ to go back? I can call your caseworker up, if you're unhappy here, but you've got a place in our home for as long as you'd like one... I'm so sorry if we've made you feel unwelcome." He sounded sad, almost hurt; his eyes betrayed the same emotion as they had in the examination room at the pediatrician's office. 

Alex's head was spinning. "No! No," he shook his head slowly, brow furrowed. "I thought— I mean, after the doctors... I just assumed..." He swallowed over the dry lump forming in his throat. 

Lin's eyes were shining now, emphasized by the crease of flesh across his forehead. "Oh bud, no." The father thought back, momentarily, to the haunting image of the Alex's unclothed figure. "The clinic was just to assess what was going on, okay? It hasn't changed anything, Alex, I promise. It's just to figure out where to go— like trying the shakes, and getting your ribs checked out. Stuff like that." He inhaled, pausing to read the boy's face; Alex looked shellshocked, and downright perplexed. 

"Alex," Lin continued, "I can tell things have been far from easy, and I'm so, so sorry. Nessa and I, we want to help, okay? If you'll have us. You deserve so much better than the hand you've been dealt,  _mijo_ — I swear to you, we're gonna do things right." 

Slowly, as his fingers gripped the cap of the plastic nutrition drink, a single tear rolled down Alex's cheek. 

—

 

As they entered Hunter High School later that afternoon, Alex couldn't help but marvel at the size of the place. The hallways were _big_ — wide and loud and crowded with students milling around the dented green lockers lining the walls. It felt like a scene out of a movie. In the entryway, a broad-shouldered boy in a letterman jacket was leaning casually, chatting with a girl in a skirt shorter than anything Alex had seen on Nevis. One kid was attempting to traverse the hallway on a very small, pastel skateboard— or, as Lin had called it under his breath, “...that a goddamn penny-board?!”

Alex fiddled with the hem of his flannel as they attempted to find the school’s office. He trailed directly behind Lin; more than once, the man stopped short, causing a chain of “ _oof-ugh-sorry_.” The pair passed a display case of dust-covered trophies, and a collection of eccentric looking student artwork. Alex was particularly drawn to a few charcoal sketches at the back, each a stunning portrait. The subjects were youthful, captured in slice-of-life scenes: two boys playing XBox on a couch, a girl sitting at a piano, and another girl participating in what appeared to be some form of martial arts.

As the approached the door to the office, Lin turned back to Alex. His eyebrow quirked at what Alex had hoped was a smile, but was probably appeared as a grimace; he was not particularly enthusiastic about this new school. He’d been to too many to count— and this didn’t seem like much of an improvement over the others. 

The receptionist offered each of them a mint, and seat beside a fake potted plant. Lin was also given a hefty stack of important-looking documents to sign.

"Let's get to it!" Lin proclaimed, entirely too enthusiastic for the pseudo-professional and stuffy setting. 

Just as Alex began to settle back in his seat, the door to the office burst open. "It wasn't  _me_ , Mr. Seabury! _Lee started it, again!_ " Three boys, one of whom was sporting a bloody lip, were ushered into the space by an uptight-looking man in an ill-fitting suit. They looked eerily familiar, though Alex was sure he'd never met them before. The office wasn't exactly large, and the latest additions paused briefly in their squabbling as they registered the presence of strangers in the room. 

Then, looking up, Alex locked eyes with the most beautiful human he'd ever encountered. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Also, if you are an eligible US citizen, PLEASE vote this Tuesday! 
> 
> Lin, and the majority of the Hamilton OBC, have vlog PSAs out for encouragement to head to the polls and make informed decisions. 
> 
> Much love <3


	5. your family brings out a different side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which battles are lost, but wars are won. 
> 
> (or: Miranda family dinner brings out the worst... and the best)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new year, new chapter
> 
> no excuses, many apologies, much love for you
> 
> <3 
> 
> more to come, as my 2017 resolution. prompts welcomed! 
> 
> (((speaking of prompts: I looove writing one-shots. if you want something (preferably FDL) but can't see it fitting in with this storyline at the moment, LEAVE IT IN THE COMMENTS!!! this is mo-def going to be a series. hmu with prompts and I will try to ~deliver~)))

The plastic jar turned over and over in Alex's hands as he gazed outside. Perhaps 'gazed' wasn't quite accurate— it was more of a fixated, thousand-yard, Linda Blair-esque stare. Through the kitchen window, a pair of figures had caught his eye. At the street corner just behind the Miranda's building, two figures loitered. From Alex's perspective, they both appeared wiry and spry enough to be around his own age ( _with bodies I should have_ , he noted, punctuated by an inhale deep enough to deliver a sharp twinge from his fractured ribs). The figures outside were far enough away it was impossible for Alex to identify any of their actual features. Yet as he stared, he couldn’t help imposing upon them, his own imagination of familiar faces.

More specifically, the face of the boy from the office. And his friends, though their images were significantly less imprinted upon Alex’s brain. He couldn’t stop envisioning him— all bloody-lipped and grinning, with freckles dotting his face in heavy constellations. Beautiful. And now, swinging around the lamppost down the street like a young, latino Gene Kelly… Or, probably not. _I wish._

“—’re you looking at?” Alex jerked, abruptly breaking his gaze with the figures at the corner. Across the kitchen, Lin had paused in his pursuit of a cupcake pan; bent halfway towards the draw beneath the stove, he stared at Alex with a slightly puzzled expression.

They were baking cupcakes. _Domestic as hell,_ Alex mused. Vanilla, with chocolate frosting, according to the box on the counter and the jar in his hands. Not homemade, per se, but domestic nonetheless. _If only Mr. Stephens could see me now…_ In his high chair at the table, Sebastian clumsily dragged a wooden spoon across his tray.

“Aha!” Lin cried. He was promptly accompanied by the distinctive sound of metal pans crashing to the tile floor. Sebastian giggled.

Stifling his own amusement, Alex stepped forward slowly, placing the container of frosting on the counter; it had warmed above room temperature considerably, having mindlessly spun in his palms for an extended period of time.

“Need help?” He offered, tentatively.

Lin leaped up from his position of damage-control with a grin. “Nope!” Popping his ‘p’ the elder man carelessly clattered the baking tin upon the countertop; Alex winced at the harsh noise.

‘ _Sunday night is family night_ ,’ Vanessa and Lin had told him. However foreign the concept seemed, Alex quickly discovered that these plans included his presence. Not just his, in fact, but several others.

Specifically, Lin’s parents.

Alex shivered at the mere thought of the impending evening— impending introductions, and firm handshakes, and nervous laughter, and all of the other painful necessities involved in meeting other people’s families. He’d had enough experience to determine that he hated introductions. Lin had been talking about the upcoming dinner with his family almost nonstop since it had first been mentioned. _‘They already love you, dude,’_ he’d gushed.

So now Lin was reading the instructions on a box of Betty Crocker cake mix, because they were going to bake cupcakes together, because they were in charge of bringing dessert. _Because this my life now, apparently_. The counter was covered: a carton of eggs, atop the unfolded daily newspaper, beside a discarded whisk, behind a metal mixing bowl. Colorful paper wrappers

The phone rang. Lin twisted to fish his cell out from the back pocket of his jeans, sliding the box down the counter towards Alex. “Can you open this, please? —Luz!” He hunched slightly, leaning up against the counter with a grin; from across the room, Alex could distinguish an audible squeak coming through the speaker. In Spanish, from the sounds of it.

Over the course of the weekend, Alex had slowly begun reacquainting himself with the concept of food. He’d helped Vanessa make dinner the night before— pasta shaped like bow ties, with chicken and vegetables— but he could only manage a small amount before caving to the soreness in his stomach. It was progress, nonetheless. Nutrient shakes tasted fine. Lin had discovered, upon investigation at the supermarket (whose magnitude starkly contrasted the limited variety at their local bodega), a brand that carried a multitude of flavors. The man had attempted to drink one, in a display of solitude with his newly acquired foster child; his mask of bravado lasted all of a minute, before he gagged on the chalky liquid.

So yeah, Alex was eager for food.

“Alex?” Lin was looking at him expectantly, phone now pressed to his chest with a hand over the receiver. “Word has somehow gotten around my—” he uncovered the mouthpiece momentarily, “— _nosy flippin’ family_ that we’re having dinner at my parents’ place tonight. How do you feel about meeting everyone, all at once?”

 _Luz. Luz… Sister, Lin’s sister._ Alex attempted to recall what he’d been told about Lin’s family. _Sister, with a few young sons, a husband._ When Vanessa gauged his comfortability with the prospect of a family dinner, she had stressed the small scale of the evening. “ _Just us, and his parents. We’ll take it slow, nothing to worry about._ ”

One of Alex’s hands snaked around, seemingly on its own accord, to slid protectively across his abdomen. He’d chosen a sweater today, to look his _Sunday best_. It was navy, engulfing his slight frame in cable-knit fabric that Lin promised he’d grow into. That seemed to have been their shopping philosophy on Friday morning. The sleeves extended past Alex’s arms when he held them at his sides, slid down his bony wrists as he reached for things. But it was warm; quite possibly warmer than any single garment he’d ever worn. It would have been a nice addition to his wardrobe, during the winter he spent in a short stint at house three in Maine.

“Alex?” He had zoned out again. He’d been doing that, a lot. The anxiety medication Stephens had gotten prescribed for him, sometime between houses five and nine, tended to have that effect on him— usually after restarting the course of pills, following an abrupt lapse in refills. “ _Mijo,_ what do you think?”

 _There it is, again_ . Lin’s favorite word, tied with all of the texting abbreviations he liked to verbalize, in some strange attempt to appear youthful. _Mijo_ , _son_ , but Lin’s _son_ is swinging his teeny-tiny legs in a high chair at the table, Lin’s _mijo_ , and Alex doesn’t understand why the word makes the pit of his stomach feel the same as the pizza on his first night in Washington Heights. Or rather, not the pizza, but the feeling of Lin holding his hair back as Alex expelled it, and the feeling of a hand on his back that wasn’t curled into a fist— his stomach feels twisted, and his palms are sweaty, and he hasn’t been anyone’s _mijo_ since he moved to the States.

And he doesn’t want to meet _Luz_.

But he _does_ want to meet Luz, because Lin wants him to meet Luz, and Lin calls Alex _mijo_ even though he threw up the pizza and has cracked ribs. Luz is Lin’s family and when Alex thinks about family, he has difficulty remembering what it felt like to have one, back before he counted homes like molted baby teeth. Lin has a sister, Luz, who wants to come to dinner, and a wife, Vanessa, who let him borrow her copy of the first _Harry Potter_ book after their failed attempt to watch the film. He has a son, a _mijo_ , who plays with trains and eats cheerios because at seven months old he can stomach food better than his 16-year-old foster counterpart.  

Lin has a family.

He had a family before Alex showed up, and upon Alex’s eventual placement back into CPS custody, he’ll have one when Alex leaves.

 _Jesus, it’s been three days and you’re already attached to these people,_ he scolds himself. _They don’t need you and they’ll rid themselves of you when they realize—_

A hand that is not his own, is placed firmly on his shoulder. It startles Alex from the deep pit of his thoughts, but does little to alleviate the panic welling in the hollow of his chest. Hitching his breath, Alex jerked away from the touch; the movement disrupts his balance, and he topples to the tile floor like the pans beneath the cupcake tin in the cupboard under the stove.

“— _shit_ , Alex, I am sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t try to touch you again, please—” Lin’s voice wavers in and out as newly-ignited pain flares across his ribcage. Though his mind urges him to run, Alex feels his body slowly furling inwards as he hunches on the floor.

He inhales once, shakily. _I am on the floor because I fell, I fell because I was scared, the floor feels cold, my sweater feels warm, the sleeves are too long, I am in Washington Heights, I am in the Miranda’s house, I am on the kitchen floor, I am on the floor because I fell._

Sebastian is burbling in the corner, undisturbed. There is a dial tone. Alex doesn’t realize that his eyes are closed, until he opens them; Lin’s cell phone lays forgotten on the floor, open to the call screen. His gaze trails upwards, from the abandoned phone, to the jean-covered pair of legs kneeling beside it. Jeans, then grey sweatshirt, then limp brown hair and…

“Hi.”

Lin has knelt over a foot away, back pressed against the cabinetry; he’s allotted space. There is a glint in his eyes, with which Alex has become all-too familiar, in spite of their brief time together. It’s the same look from the pediatrician’s office, and the bathroom floor on the first night. _Concern_.

“I’m sorry,” Alex chokes on the only words he can force from his mouth. The curvature of the phrase is all-too familiar upon his lips— particularly following such a concentrated bout of anxiety.

The man before him shifts into a more comfortable sitting position. Alex mirrors him.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” Lin says slowly, deliberately enunciating each word, while maintaining steady eye contact. His hands rest limply in his lap. “Can we talk through what just happened?”

Alex inhaled, shakily, with a shrug. “Family,” he said, voice little more than a weak rasp.

“You’re stressed about meeting my family?” Lin asked, cocking his head to one side as he processed the thought. His brows furrowed with a frown; the cogs in his brain were visibly turning.

Another shrug. “No, I— Not, not about them, just…” The boy exhaled in a huf. “’s just a lot. And I…” Alex broke off once more, voice trailing as his eyes wandered across the vast expanse of flooring, unable to meet Lin’s concerned gaze.

“It’s okay, Alex,” Lin whispers. He isn’t sure who the words attempt to soothe.

Head hanging, Alex sighs. “What if… I mean, I’m…What if they...”

“What if they don’t like you?”

 _Yes!_ , Alex wants to exclaim, _because what is there to like?!_ , but said aloud, the question seems unnervingly childish. Goosebumps prickle on the back of his neck.

“Alex, can I confess something to you?” The boys eyes raise once more, his own forehead crinkling in a frown rivalling that of the man across the floor. “I’ve been nervous about our family dinner tonight, too.” The frown deepens. “Not because of you! Not at all, bud. I just… I _know_ that they will love you. But I want _you_ to like _them_ . You are such a wonderful addition to our family, _mijo_ , and I want nothing more than for you feel a part of it.”

“ _Really_?” The look of disbelief and sheer astonishment on Alex’s face, drives an icepick into the mangled mess formerly regarded as Lin’s heart. His lips moved soundlessly, as though he wanted to speak out, but could not.

Silence settled between them, with only the continued dial tone to interrupt their scattered thoughts. And then, quietly: “Okay.”  

Lin smiled slowly, fondly. “I am sorry for not asking your permission earlier, but—may I give you a hug?”

A tentative nod.

“Do we have enough cupcake stuff?” Alex asked, his breath tickling the loose hair at the nape of Lin’s neck as he was held. Pulling back, Lin shot him a questioning look. “Y’know,” the boy continued slowly, “for Luz’s family, too?”

There was a pause. Rising from the floor, Alex extended a hand to help pull Lin off the tiles. The boy offered him a shy smile.

“It would kinda suck if there wasn’t enough to go around, huh?”

Sebastian, spoon in hand, giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback = much appreciated! 
> 
> comments/kudos are the g.o.a.t.  
> (greatest of all timeee)


	6. up in it, lovin' it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is (mostly) glad homeschooling was taken off the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Lin! 
> 
> a quick word: 
> 
> \- please note that ~a lot~ of the dates in this piece, won't align with their real-life counterparts—particularly for things related to the timing of the musical's release, and Sebastian's age.  
> \- i've started an author tumblr! obediant-servant.tumblr.com --- 100% hamilton trash, come talk!

“Are you sure you want to go?” 

Monday morning found Lin, Sebastian and Alex standing on the curb, out in front of Hunter High. The baby was strapped in a pouch on Lin’s chest, waiting patiently to go to the daycare down the street. It seemed that everything in the Miranda’s neighborhood was within walking distance (though they owned a car, just in case). 

“Yes, Lin.” Alex had a tight grip on the shoulder straps of his backpack, the only indication betraying his anxiety over starting school. He’d chosen to wear a new sweater today: a slightly lighter shade of green than his backpack, plain, with a white button-down underneath.  _ “Like a proper Slytherin,” _ Vanessa had complimented him over breakfast. He still wasn’t fully sure what that implied. 

“You can skip! We can homeschool you!” House seven had homeschooled; eight kids, one mom, and more Holy Bibles than Alex ever wanted to see again. 

He shook his head. “I’m good with this.”  
“...You could go to daycare with Sebastian!” The baby burbled. 

“I’d rather not.” 

“They have time with  _ blocks _ ,” Lin enticed, with a goofy wiggle of his eyebrows. 

“ _ Lin _ .” 

“Okay, okay.” He readjusted the hat on Seb’s head, an uneasy expression replacing his trademark grin. “You have my number, in case you need anything, or even if you don’t need anything and you just wanna call, and V packed you a lunch— the shake is in a thermos, so nobody has to—” Lin broke off, raising his hands in mock surrender as Alex began giggling. 

“I’ll see you after school.” He’d tried offering to walk home, but Lin had insisted on picking him up. As he turned to leave, the older man offered Alex a fist.  _ Today will be fine _ . He bumped it. 

Alex mounted the steps, pausing to look back before he entered the building. At the curb, Lin waved. He had yet to move from their original spot. Hesitantly, the teen turned back around, taking a deep breath before pulling open the door. 

In the front hallway, other students had already begun clustering in various pods against the lockers. Classic high school demographics— Letterman jackets, across from leather jackets, across from sweater vests. His last school, at his last home, was a Catholic institution. Everyone wore the same plaid uniform; it was nice to see diversity, no matter how cliche it looked. 

Alex retraced the route he’d journeyed with Lin, past the lockers, to the office. The same woman sat behind the desk, looking entirely unrefreshed by the weekend. “Mr. Hamilton, correct?” He nodded, eyes trained upon the faded carpet. 

She slid a sheet of paper across the surface of her desk. “Your schedule stays the same each day. There’s a bell between each period, and a few minutes of passing time. Room numbers are  _ beneath _ the name, not above.” Her speech sounded suspiciously rehearsed, as though she’d been through it numerous times; Alex nodded along, an icy pressure settling across his chest. 

Atop the initial paper, the receptionist placed a tiny slip. “Your locker combo.” 

Alex unfurled a hand from the strap of his backpack, gingerly reaching for the information. He thanked the woman, shoving the locker combination in the back pocket of his jeans as he re-entered the hallway. During the short amount of time he’d been in the office, the crowd of students seemed to have multiplied exponentially.

The first stop on his schedule was Homeroom.  _ But where the hell is room 204? _ Each section of lockers down the corridor is divided by a classroom, but none of them were labeled.  _ You are  _ not _ going to freak out right now _ , he mentally scolded himself, though he could already feel himself start to breath more rapidly. Squeezing his eyes shut, Alex tightened his one-handed grip.  _ Don’t you dare start this right— _

He was startled out of his own panic by a shout down the hallway. Though his eyes were still closed, the sharp noise cut right through his thoughts, grounding him momentarily. Down the hallway, Alex could distinguish the sounds of an argument; not quite yelling, but angry nonetheless. He tried to tune it out, focusing on the rise and fall of his own chest, attempting to steady himself before he continues his search for Homeroom. 

That was, until a heavy figure plowed into him. 

Alex’s eyes shot open, back slamming against the closet thing behind him— which, unfortunately, felt suspiciously like another human body. It jerked away, sending Alex to the floor. The heavy figure landed ontop of him. 

The heavy figure who, upon closer examination, was the boy from the office on Friday. 

And he was sprawled across Alex’s chest. 

_ He’s cuter up close _ , was the first thought through Alex’s discombobulated. His face, which was chin-down atop Alex’s sternum, was covered in a dazzling constellation of freckles; hundreds of them, stretching from his hairline to the part of his neck that disappeared beneath the collar of his t-shirt. The boy’s curly hair, long and loose, tickled his cheeks. 

They locked eyes. 

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but in his momentary loss of words, 

“ _ —John _ , are you alright?” Another boy ( _ one from the office _ , his brain supplied) was leaning over them. Or, perhaps leaning was too lenient of a word; with his massive form,  _ hulking _ was more appropriate. His shoulders were the width of a doorframe, filled in with bulging biceps and a broad, muscular chest. The shadow of an unshaved beard scattered on his cheeks, was more facial hair than Alex had ever been able to grow. 

The freckled boy—  _ John? _ — groaned, a low vibration that resonated through Alex’s own chest where their bodies pressed together. It morphed into laughter, complete with a grin that stole Alex’s breath harder than the fall. 

“I’m so sorry,” the boy said, locking eyes with Alex as he slowly peeled himself away. The larger boy helped him up, face set in a partial frown as he dusted debris off of John’s black shirt. As Alex began levering himself into a sitting position, a rush of pain shot through his abdomen.  _ Fuck _ . In the (pleasant) confusion of John’s body atop his own, he’d been able to ignore the unhappy pulsation of his jostled ribcage. 

“Jefferson’s such an asshole, dude, you can’t let him get to you like— Are you alright?” John’s friend had started staring at him. 

Alex blushed, steeling himself against the blooming pain with a sharp inhale. “Y-yeah,” he forced a smile, accepting the hand John extended him.  _ Shit, his hands are soft. And warm.  _

Even after Alex had been lifted to his feet, John’s grasp on his palm remained. They lingered like that, in the middle of the crowded hallway, though he couldn’t help but feel as though they were the only two people there. 

“John Laurens,” the freckled boy introduced, firmly shaking the hand he was already holding. 

“Alexander Hamilton.” He stared at their hands, momentarily, before remembering to shake back. “You can call me Alex,” he added quickly. 

There was a scoff from beside him. “That’s adorable, Laurens. But next time, can you please watch where you trip?” Another boy was glaring at them with uncomfortably piercing eyes; he was wearing a blazer and tie, as though he mistook the high school for his office building. Judging by his particularly offended posture, Alex assumed him to be the boy he fell against. 

“Oh, fuck off, Burr,” John’s friend griped. 

“You must be new,” Burr said, lip curling into a sneer. “I’m Aaron Burr.” As Alex glanced at his newly-extended hand, he realized that he was still holding John’s. “Try not to engage in their… roughhousing. At least, not in the hallway.” With a final scoff, Burr strode off. 

Alex turned back to the pair. 

“I’m Hercules Mulligan,” the large boy grinned. “But if you call be anything Herc, I’ll have to kill you.” 

John and Hercules exchanged solemn nods, before bursting into hysterics. “I can’t believe Jefferson tripped me, the prick,” John said, rolling his eyes. The trio shifted off towards one side of lockers, as 

“Is this your schedule?” Herc picked up the discarded sheet from where it had landed on the tile flooring.

John leaned over for a view, whistling after a moment. “This is a  _ solid _ schedule, dude. Absolutely tight. We’ve got, like, three classes together!” Alex’s heart soared at the prospect of having a familiar face throughout the day. 

“Same, actually— almost an even split. I think you’re in Lafeyette’s English class, too!” As he received the schedule back, Alex folded the paper in fourths, shoving it in his pocket. 

He grinned. “Y’all wouldn’t happen to know where 202 is, would you?” 

“Homeroom? We’re headed there too!” 

A bell rang overhead. 

“...And we’re already late. Onwards!” Laurens pointed towards the stairs at the end of the hallway. The trio, sprinting, laughed all the way up. 

_ This could be nice. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course Alex is a Slytherin— he is Lin's kid, after all. 
> 
>  
> 
> feedback is welcomed!  
> the email notification about comments just about stops my heart momentarily  
> (for real, my favorite thing)  
> (ever)


End file.
